


Shutter Closed (Minutes Late)

by infernoforte



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Angst, Drug Use, HunHan - Freeform, KaiSoo - Freeform, KriSoo - Freeform, M/M, One Shot, sekai - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:49:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26733883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infernoforte/pseuds/infernoforte
Summary: Kai is always too late, even when it comes to saving himself.
Relationships: Do Kyungsoo | D.O/Kim Jongin | Kai, Do Kyungsoo | D.O/Wu Yi Fan | Kris, Kim Jongin | Kai/Oh Sehun, Lu Han/Oh Sehun
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Shutter Closed (Minutes Late)

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been initially planned to write in 2017, however, due to the constant tug of mental distress I've had while writing this, mainly because it's dark, I never managed to complete it. But here I am, as I regain my paces. No matter how much I have surrendered to write this, it is still a part of me, and one of the pieces I have put much effort into writing.

It's Winter Solstice today. Kyungsoo isn't sure if he's drowning in a sea of rice balls or he's drowning in a sea of rice balls soup. In either way, the murmur of softness next door stays, the sky keeps adjusted to a tone of blue with an instinct of resistance to rain, the signboards rattling from gushes of wind and street vendors accompanying the traffic vaguely remind that this is another run of the mill.

Kai is late as always. Kai, a walk-in inferno in every magazine sales climax, some say they have seen him on generously pasted window posters from district to district and from latest astro airings to ages old tabloids, some say he’s gone to New York's MSA modelling event and kissed every one who was there from head to toe. But to Kyungsoo, Kai isn't any of those. Kai is someone he met long ago, someone who would want to stay in Kyungsoo's monochromic films forever.

More precisely, he wants to exist at that spot forever-not just anyone's, Kyungsoo is the key, others are only words.

-

Year 2013, Kyungsoo is a photographer, a cameraman at crammed global modelling events, Kai is the perpetually late model. It's raining in Paris, Kyungsoo’s carrying a camera, throwing away a make up box; throwing away a ludicrous wheel of fortune. He can choose between offering entourages with pressed pigments like them in Hollywood (a hobby) or being the one who held the shutter and "click", a moment of forever in a DSLR digital storage (an aspiration). He can work with any magazine agencies. Or he can mix the colors, present them, debate and improvise, he can tock concoctions out of brushes and later on, they will be printed on magazines with pixels higher than Oh Sehun's face on the jumbo screen near Hyundai mall.

Sometimes, Kyungsoo thinks, it wouldn't be untrue to say Kai is the only reason to why he has ever existed.

-

The day when Do Kyungsoo finds out that humans in reality is distinct from them in movies, it's September nineteen, because the bitter fact is that written people have unending luck, and they're flatly, fiction.

Kai's back is slanted against the banister, end of summer reflecting off his glare of deposition. Kyungsoo likes it when he's staring far into the metropolis, only because he doesn't seem as vulnerable in his usual days.

Kai is not fiction, he never was. He can be less than a living piece, but more than fossils stepped and abraded from time to time. To Kyungsoo, he is not Kai, he is Kim Jongin, dotted and smeared across lists of enrolling high school students, a clear smack of cut-and-dried across the face.

But the Kai today in New York city, as Kyungsoo walks in their ever so crammed, blinding prep studio, is devastated against the piled heap of magazines, all with his faces on it with a defensive scowl. As curious as Kyungsoo is of the mild feeling of uncertainty for today's progress, he barely pays attention to the paled knuckles he has while handling the stone-weighed DSLR Canon despite it's newly polished, flitting his thoughts across the room where Kai stands and pondering about the night they would spend after this futile shot of monochromatic films.

To the outstanding scrutiny Kyungsoo radiates across the room, Kai's lips curl up into a seductive, indulging kind of smirk that nearly hits the other in the gut and sends his camera shattering on the dusty cement.

-

When Kyungsoo stumbles into their apartment one night, he has a cold. Unbearable at the state of his emaciated, hunched figure that barely withstands the invisible weight on his shoulders. He swallows back a series of stifled coughs, half crawling to the counter only to get half a glass of water and spilling the rest on the floor, when Kai swings open the toilet door, frowning. "Hyung."

To that, Kyungsoo's shoulders give a rather inconspicuous shudder, fingers scratching against the wooden floorboard. He limps to the other side of the counter, shuffling unrelated papers and boxes of cereals until he finds the last two pathetic rows of painkillers, while the disappearance of the others has probably hinged the suspicious glare he almost instantly shifts towards Kai. "Did I not tell you, don't take the painkillers?"

"I was in pain." Kai shrugs.

"Jongin, you don't fight mental illness with painkillers."

If it weren't for Kyungsoo's impending collapse, Kai contemplates the times he plans to hit him in the face. It happens soon after Kai walks up against him, both hands securing on the counter, caging Kyungsoo into a warm, feverish breath. "Say that again, hyung. Say that and I'll die on an overdose so you don't have to see me again."

Then darkness engulfs Kyungsoo, he sees himself reaching to grab Kai's collar, as he always does whenever he wants to kiss him, fuck him and forget the world just because Kai is the world. "Don't you dare-"

And that's when Kai decides to stock up painkillers again to stuff them in the very place Kyungsoo find them every single time, only to grab another big pile of them and slips them into his own pocket instead.

-  


"For fuck's sake, Yifan, drop the cigarette and clean those stains." Kyungsoo flinches one time, at Prada's usual slice of modelling event launched for winter. Kai, with his chin rested on idle knuckles gleaming off reflectively at its finest, lets out a low chuckle despite the choking air filled with makeup powder scattering at the tip of Junmyeon's fingers. Junmyeon is yet, another mind blessed with underserved ingenuity, prolly contributing to the readily made-available concoctions in his make up box.

Yifan, another model in league with the contemporary, revolutionary conception from Kai, smirks harrowingly under his million-dollared entourage by Junmyeon. The suit he is currently in shows jet-black lining, costing of expensive fabric and the edges as smooth as his equally styled, jet-black hair. "It's called adding profit to the films, your films, how else do you suppose us to earn money from without a little depth about the pixels?"

Junmyeon and Kai laugh, the former out of professionalism, out of a must to appear pleased, while the latter out of the kind of apprehensive amusement that Kyungsoo will never learn to feel the same. It's as though Yifan and Kai has been through the same throb in their head, the same ache in their hearts and have thrown up the mutually recollective bitterness of overnight bile, not from the alcohol but from the pain.

For some reasons, Kyungsoo intends to darken Yifan's complexion in his photos every time he closes the shutter during their shooting sessions, swirled with a little bit of control and a pint of jealousy. Then the team's director, Kim Minseok would go mad and fling all the printed films like confetti towards every corner of his office, with some landing on top of Kyungsoo's hair, and he'll still feel a pang of pride on his chest and a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Because Kai is the world, and no one outshines Kai.

-

One of all the times they have argued, is when Kai has finally demanded a day off from Minseok, his eyes are swollen with dark circles and his frame is haggard from his state of deposition, just as Kyungsoo has always seen his wearing. Kyungsoo has always believed Kai to be innately a person to go along with the chances of life and work altogether, and suggests they should take a trip to Broadway.

Kai agrees almost immediately, and ignores Kyungsoo's narrowed sight. "Jongin." Although he sounds a little stammering, he seems to keep his tone firm.

"Yes, hyung?"

"Do you really love your work that much? You get a day off just to go back to work because why, Broadway is just another form of work."

"It's just a way of living, you wouldn't want to see me going to the bar tonight, would you?" Kai shrugs, just as the typical, snobby way he loves to respond to Kyungsoo.

Kyungsoo turns, gesturing Kai to the door with a swing of his keys, a layer of disappointment flushing across his eyes. And it happens in the middle of the drive, the engine of their Ford Mustang louder than any roar alongside the gushing wind, Kaí's tanned skin glowing under the scorching sun. "What am I to you, really, Jongin?"

"Best friend, a friend with benefits." Kyungsoo thinks he can't examine Kai's thoughts when his eyes are covered with the ever so dark sunglasses, just as Kai can't examine his.

"Is that all?" His voice is quiet, with a hint of slight regret at the end. When Lincoln Center gradually hitches into sight, Kyungsoo breaks down with a flood of tears, blinding the view and Kai and his fingers and everything else that seems too fragile to remember. The only thing he can remember is that he parks their Mustang miles away from the theatre, them walking miles just to return because Kyungsoo is crying so hard, so hard that his lungs hurt from the short breaths, long silence. Kai is leisurely walking beside him, unable to touch Kyungsoo because it is within an avenue where every one else kisses him by the shoe, dwelling through the gasps about why is Kai, the glory to the industry of high-end fashion is loitering with an unknown, sobbing man, through the ushes and drawls of suspicious billionaires and the pedestrians. The oohs and ahs emerging from the crowd until Kai somewhat drags Kyungsoo out of the place, and he lays on the seat next to the driver's, still pacing in his trance until they reach home in merely the length of a blurry dream.

"Hyung, you really can't expect over the line from people like me." Jongin sets the keys on the dining table as Kyungsoo kicks his shoes away at the doorstep, eyes unwilling to shove up.

"What about people like you?" He sniffs.

"The last minute I'm still here, the next I'm not, then the next I'm here again. I flicker too much that I'm fickled."

"So I can break up with you anytime I'd like to?"

"Anytime, hyung. I'm here to set you free, even by shagging, we're both looking for freedom."

If Kyungsoo has to admit it, his heart still pounds with beats of disbelief. Because conquering Kai, especially when he is frail, is too easy. So that night, not leaping over any exceptions, he pounds into Kai equally as hard, the air of their apartment feels as belonging as it is ever before, the grasps of satisfaction against the sheets, the hisses of compulsion wherever touched. Kyungsoo always knows Kai is an addiction, as much as Kai is addicted to his almost daily dose of alcohol. Too sweet to linger, too hurting to forgive.

-

Several weeks later, Minseok has signed another valuably extravagant contract with Oh Sehun, the man himself finer than the sewn strings of silk he wears. The air smells even expensive everywhere he walks by, as he gradually plops down the seat next to Kai in the prep room. It's the IL Modelling in Chicago, and of course, after restless days and nights surrendered by the top-notch designers, it's their turn to present the masterpieces to their main consumers in the food chain. "Can't believe how you're still surviving with the Kim of an asshole director for this long, Kim Jongin."

With the mention of the name, Kyungsoo's eyes flick up in awe onto the man beside him, gawping as he registers his gaze on locks of silver that curtains the demeanor of the model with a smirk that resembles Kai's the next second.

"Don't call me by that name, bitch."

Sehun chuckles lightly, earning a smash at the shoulders by the new makeup artist named Lu Han, who has also signed up for the team the same time Oh Sehun has, and is assigned directly under Sehun himself. "It's just an ex boyfriend, Lu." He chuckles again.

The glimmer in Kai's complexion reminds Kyungsoo in just a brief nanosecond, it dawns on him of what he has forgotten over the past years. The couple of fame in high school, Kim Jongin and Oh Sehun, only to break up during graduation because Sehun has fallen out of love and Jongin is holding on too tight, then it has somehow find its way to fuck Jongin up before he even knows it, before Kyungsoo can save him as he falls from the verge of self-destruction.

Kim Jongin has become Kai, inevitable, irreversible.

Kyungsoo is sure when to make up his mind, to set him and Kai free.

-

"Let's break up, Kai." Kyungsoo's voice is certain, without a hint of flicker, and unlike any other times. Calling Jongin by the name of Kai is new, and strange, almost knocking Kai off his guard if he notices better. The mug of coffee dangles loosely between his fingers, stinging his nose with bitter agony. Kai leans on the settee with a torn magazine sitting in his arms, summer reflecting off his glare of deposition.

Unexpectedly, Kai looks up, a little concerned. "Why, hyung?"

"I'm really tired." The sigh from Kyungsoo is devastated, almost as broken as Kai's current self.

"But weren't we good, and you bought me chocolate earlier."

"Listen, the problem is, Kai, you don't try hard enough. You didn't try hard enough to see me in the MSC Models, you didn't try hard enough to explain who we were when Junmyeon asked, you didn't try hard enough to go out with me during the weekends where my Canon was thrown out the window forgetten, when it was the only time you weren't stuck with extra photoshoots. You keep me jealous all the time when you posed with Oh Sehun, your high school sweetheart without even a noticeable twitch. Now tell me, why, weren't we good?" Kyungsoo is crying, or screaming, or both. Kai feels it lodged midway at his throat, the sour, strangling pain he is unsure of what to call. 

"Hyung-"

"You thought I was there, didn't you? I would never die out, and you would never really try hard anyway. I hate how tragic I am, that chocolate was the most perfect I have picked in the shop, the most neatly carved, but when would I be perfect for you?"

"Hyung, that's not how it works..."

"I know what works, you and your pathetic New York Gucci, work, work and work. Your life is work, your time is work, I am your work. You got all but nothing from work, Kim Jongin."

Kai is unable to remember the way Kyungsoo juts his legs out of his life, except for the screech against the peeled floorboard as Kyungsoo wheels his luggage out of the apartment, the door clicking gently without the squeak of the hinges. Then that's about it, Do Kyungsoo, the one he talks most to in his team, his best friend, his friend with benefits, fades like water evaporating from his life, from his grasp of tiny hope for the future, from his ugly, torn and broken world.

-  


At some point, Kyungsoo stops the act against Yifan, getting along with him as the sudden change casts wonder from every one else. The lazy, uninterested voice from Sehun rings across the room. "Is it just me, or has Do Kyungsoo found some sexual appeal in the person he once loathed?" He locks his peripherals at Yifan, who is sitting next to him with his legs crossed, the laziness in his smirk mirrors that of Sehun's.

"Was it even any of your business to begin with?"

"So you guys did things like the rumors said?" Sehun is laughing.

"It was splendid, now shut up before I begin to elaborate on the... things we did." Kyungsoo practically smiles at the fondness that sweeps across Yifan's visage, perpetually ignoring the stare from Kai that has been punching holes into the both of them the moment Sehun sounds. He remembers the strong, metallic taste of Kai months ago, now replaced by the fresh, welcoming slam of Yifan's cologne.

Things have been different from a recollective aspect. The glare of deposition from Kai has soon been replaced by the reel of lasting affection from Yifan. It appears revealed, somehow, that Kyungsoo isn't afraid of change between him and Kai, he is just afraid that he can never find someone as affectionate as Kai, that he can never feels as wanted when Kai is pounding in him.

That night, as Yifan pounds hard but steadily into Kyungsoo, his vision blurs swiftly into the spotlights he has always remembered at the modelling events he has attended, with Kai, with Yifan and with Sehun. It's really too tragic as he only manages to realize it later, he thinks, that he is just another Kai, begging for love he can't afford having, of the rampant abyss he is falling into if he holds on too hard just for the sake of being recognized as the only person who feeds off Kai's glare of deposition, the only person to set Kai free only when he is in dearth, while he is bawling his eyes out in the dark and throwing up sleeping pills just because the thought of Kai just makes his head spin on and on and he can't help but tosses and turns every single night, unable to fall asleep as Kai is already wasted in a pool of alcohol.

He knows, if he allows it to slip through his mind, that anyone can outshine Kai.

-

Months later, Kyungsoo finds out, through Junmyeon as his absence in the team goes unnoticed probably only by him, that apparently Kai has been sent to the rehab because of morphine overuse. Kyungsoo stares blankly out the window at the screen of Yifan and Oh Sehun on New York's avenue, the thoughts of Kai, so vague by now disappears and reappears in his mind. Junmyeon gives an encouraging squeeze on his shoulder before leaving, passing him a rolled note of the address for Kai's rehab.

"Hi, hyung." Kai looks up, grinning as Kyungsoo enters the room, his glare of deposition still as jabbing as Kyungsoo pictures it thousands of times before deciding to drop by.

He settles down on the single couch next to Kai's bed, diverting his gaze, landing on the cracked walls and immaculately framed paintings and everywhere else except for Kai's face. "Why, Jongin? Just why?"

"I'm done, for all these years, hyung, can't you see? I'm barely a ghost ambling around people, around top-notch industries, around people like you. People like you never understand how it really is for people like me, because every proceeding second sums up to every stab of pain in my head. The world isn't about top-notch cloths and fashion, it's about all the bullshit conception and the fucking mindset, everything's cultural. You see? Go on and tell every one else you're in love with a drug user, go on and tell them you're depressed. All that everyone does is shrink your problems until you're doubtful of yourself, until you don't trust yourself, why? Because we're fucking hypocritical bitches we don't want to be."

To that, Kyungsoo can't seem to fidget anything to throw back, because Kai is right at one point. The world is a rotten place, so much like his monochromatic films and the syllables give up to form on his lips. So he leaves instead with a gentle click of the door, as gentle as the last time he has left Jongin at their shared apartment, silent and never returning.

-

Kyungsoo isn't surprised as the news from Minseok reaches the team, setting his ears ringing. "Jongin kicked the bucket, cocaine overdose. No one knows how he's done that, nobody's keeping an eye on him for days and they found him last night."

The only photo frame of all, sitting perfectly basked under the first rays of sunlight jamming through the window landing on his desk, is the old, faded one they have taken back in 2013, when they were in Paris. It is the one of very few times where Kai has really smiled. It reminds him of high school, Kim Jongin, dotted and smeared across lists of enrolling high school students, a clear smack of cut-and-dried across the face. Kyungsoo hasn't realized until now, that how much time has slipped through his fingers, how many pieces of Jongin he has lost along the journey, how his feelings have never reduced even the slightest despite the unfolding of the years.

He doesn't realize the tears trickling down his chin as he says countless of sorry's to the Kai in his photograph, as though the warm caress of Kai's calloused fingers brush across the back of his neck still lingers as clearly as he remembers, as though the glare of deposition reflecting off Kai is waiting for him to fix, as though the fickled syllables of Kai still beg for Kyungsoo to set him free.

As Kyungsoo still attends the MSC modelling event that evening, Sehun still blabbering about his contours unfixed and complaining about how badly Lu Han is at the job, Yifan still looking stunningly attractive. The only difference is the tanned figure supposedly sitting next to Sehun, his crevices so blatant and his hair jet-black, going quickly unnoticed by every one else other than Kyungsoo.

Kyungsoo adjusts the lenses as it focuses on the two most renowned models of the age of contemporary, revolutionary fashion, pressing down on one last click. Shutter closed.

So are the hopes and dreams he's once had at this very stage, none other than Kai's perfection permanent in his monochromatic films.


End file.
